His masterpiece
by conductor115
Summary: they say that, like the eyes, the arts can be a glimpse into the soul. What would happen if a young boy where to stumble upon the ability to access that power? will he let life become grey, or shall he create a masterpiece
**Hello! Welcome to His masterpiece! I'll be your conductor for this journey, so find a window seat and prepare for the ride. We'll be departing shortly, but we do have some safety announcements first.**

 **Harry Potter is the property of J.K Rowling. I cannot claim any part as my own and don't earn any financial profit from its success.**

 **Thank you for your time and once again, enjoy the ride. As they say, Mukashi, mukashi…**

Impenetrable darkness surrounded him, leaving not a single meter visible. However, there were sounds, distant sounds which felt… familiar. Almost as if they were dragged, they drew ever closer, becoming more and more recognisable.

"Stand aside foolish girl! Your skills are no…"

"Until I run dry, you shall never hurt…"

"Your husband was a renowned auror; a little painter like you is but a mere speck…"

"They'll hold strong for now…"

" _ **Avada kedavra!**_ "

Ignoring the cry, he ran, faster than ever before, yet it was a futile effort. No matter how much he pushed his aching muscles, Despite the tight clenching of his hands to his ears, It was impossible to escape. The haunting screeches of anguish and maniacal laughter followed, allowing no respite. Summoning the meagre courage needed, he braved a single glance behind him. He regretted such an action.

A monstrous wave of mysterious, almost ink like, substance rolled behind him, chasing him and gaining speed far too quickly. Forcing what remained of his energy into constant movement, a last ditch attempt to escape his impending doom , but as tears mixed with sweat beading his face, He somehow tripped and could only release one last scream as the wave of evil consumed him

And he awoke.

Harry was a somewhat stunted boy, as seen in his lacking height and almost anorexic body. Of course, it was needed if he wished to live in the same conditions as he was currently. Wiping sweat from his tired eyes and groping for the small light switch, Harry took a small moment to recuperate and regain his bearings.

His bed, if it could even be called that, was a simple old mattress haphazardly thrown onto the floor with a worn, threadbare blanket as his only form of warmth. The area surrounding was cramped, any leftover space filled with what little possessions he had. There was at least a light bulb, albeit one quickly dying out, which hung from the slanted roof which barely allowed Harry, even with his height, to stand. It was barely suitable for a cupboard. In fact, it was. Yes, someone had the gall to take a young, developing child and carelessly toss him into the cupboard beneath the stairs.

'Yes,' He recalled, instinctively rubbing the back of his head. 'That's happened way too much.'

He was called out of his reminiscence by the now regular high pitched screeching from outside his door with, he thought unnecessary, banging.

"Come out! You need to get breakfast ready, or you can't expect any of your own!" Yelled the female voice.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry replied, quickly substituting the oversized pyjamas he wore for the cleanly folded day clothes placed at the end of his 'bed'. He crawled out and under the condescending gaze of Aunt Petunia, immediately set out to start breakfast.

It wasn't too long before a large amount of thumping caused by feet on stairs began to rumble, signifying the appearance of his cousin and uncle. Uncle Vernon Dursley was an extremely obese man, with greying hair and moustache which he arrogantly believed to be 'the finest piece of facial hair ever achieved." with lovely little Dudley aiming to truly be his father's son. He was similarly rotund, with a mean streak only the cruellest of child bullies could be proud of. In a vast contrast to Harry, he was constantly spoilt, with many birthday presents, a lavish bedroom and constant praise, even for the most mundane of things.

He also had distaste for his cousin like his parents. Whenever they weren't around (and occasionally when they were) He took the opportunity to tease and physically abuse him alongside his gang of likeminded friends.

"Hey Harry, where's our breakfast?" He asked impatiently banging his utensils on the table.

"Yes, laziness will not be tolerated and neither will any bunt food." Uncle Vernon added, the threat left lingering unspoken. Harry in turn simply sighed. He had to deal with such things from a very early age, having been given a frying pan and stool at the age of 5. Pouring copious amounts of oil into the pan, he began to think about what it was li-

"Pay attention boy, or do you not want to eat?" Petunia asked, once again in the ear-splitting voice she reserved only for him.

"I'm sorry Aunt Petunia." And with that, continued his arduous task.

"Now you know what to do boy and I expect them all to be done by lunch, or you can stay in your cupboard." Vernon grunted out, having finished his copious amounts of sausages, eggs and grease. " And you can also do the attic. God knows you won't do anything beneficial with the time otherwise and you need to learn how to deal with it." Petunia also stated, now utilising a simpering voice, like a dog trying to earn treats from its master.

"Yes Aunt, uncle." Harry replied head bowed. He finished the small slice of stale bread, swallowed the water in a single gulp and set about to begin his chores to the sound of Dudley once more demanding more food. Alongside his chef duties, he was also meant to weed the garden (Which had won many awards for beauty that Petunia claimed for herself) Water the roses, repaint the fence, do the laundry… He was basically their servant and he hated it. After all, he was but the tender age of 8; surely the should be playing and enjoying life? According to the Dursleys, apparently not. Once more releasing a sigh, he set to work. That fence could be so hard to work.

It was a complete waste of his talents, he surmised as he skilfully took his brush to the wood with instinctual ease. He had a rare condition, thought almost mythical by his classmates and infuriating to his cousin's gang. He had a perfect, eidetic He recalled, memory, being able to recall any point within his life with pinpoint accuracy.

Apart from the very beginning.

For some reason, he lacked the capacity to remember his own immediate life, despite experts claiming he could even remember the time spent in the womb (Which he personally found incredibly disgusting), but no matter how hard he tried, he could tell. That was why his dream was so intriguing to him. Was it formed out of collected remnants of a time left forgotten? Had he actually experienced such a strange showdown as a baby? It haunted him and he wanted answers, but he kept quiet, lest he spark the ire of his cousins. 

Another seemingly random skill he held was a practically master level talent for the arts. When he wasn't held back by his guardians, he had a wonderfully creative mind-set and could combine this with his photographic memory to recreate the most difficult of musical, dramatic and artistic pieces. But he held art closest to his heart, with a fondness for Eastern calligraphy and paintings. The few times he had been to a museum (With his Uncle forced to take him due to lack of babysitters) He had stood entranced in the eastern section, even when the museum found out that the Dursleys had left him for an hour. Fortunately, the school had noticed his talent and allowed him use of the art classroom indefinitely, with prior notice of course. The thought left a smile on his face.

It was to these thoughts that he began to notice the somewhat large box left lying in the corner of the attic. Quickly laying down the boxes he currently held, Harry slowly moved closer to the box. 

"Whoa, I wonder how much I could get for this." It was a fairly ornate box, with strange symbols engraved in gold covering every surface. It was surprisingly clean considering how long it had sat untouched and had an almost magical feeling to it. His hand moving on its own, he gently laid it upon the lid and with a small breath, opened the lid.

Within was a calligraphy brush, which was intriguing, considering he doubted that Petunia, the most likely to paint, would ever follow the art. HE gently gripped the long, dark blue handle and admired the engravings visible. They seemed like miniature versions of the strange symbols seen on the box, so he was shocked when they started glowing.

Almost dropping the brush in surprise, He held it away from him as he felt an undeterminable energy rush through his very veins and a spotlight fall on him. Once it had died down, Harry gave an incredulous stare o the tool and could only speak one single word.

"Cool."

A moment passed and Harry remembered he saw something else within the box. With a tentative reach, he managed to pick up a letter, written on a paper he was unfamiliar with.

"This is like the parchment used in the old days. Why…" He slowly began to read out loud, quietly, so as not to alert his guardians.

 _To my dearest son / daughter._

 _Hello Harry/ Rose. In case you're wondering, those are the names we're debating on having depending on if you're a boy or a girl. They're your grandfather's and grandmother's, such wonderful people…_

 _But I'm rambling. I haven't even told you my name! Right. I'm Lily Evans-Potter, your mother and a Witch. Yes, you read that right. I'm a witch. You see, there's a whole world of magic out there and your now the child of that world. I guess you could say…_

 _You're a wizard Harry!_

It was at that moment when he had to take a break. His mother was claiming herself a witch? It would make sense, considering what had just happened, but magic surely couldn't exist right?  
"That's a stupid question," Harry berated himself. "You just saw it happen."

 _Now, if you have this letter then I've probably died. If not, then we're probably laughing at the awful cheesiness of this letter! But if I am, then this is something I want you to have. This brush is my own, something I created to go along with the talent I have. It is special because it can create its own ink (In any colour!_ _) and that ink can be used in the drawing of runes and the casting of spells IN MIDAIR! That's awesome right? It works like a wand and I'd recommend using it as one, as it was made with you in mind._

 _As well as my totally awesome gift,_ Harry felt a large bead of sweat fall from his head as he continued reading _Me and my friends have created 2 other tools for you to use. Why you? Because their children were found to not be good enough in the right areas. Go Baby!_

 _Ahem,  
Now, you need to ask whoever's looking after you to take you to Diagon alley (Trust me, if you're with the right kind of people, they'll know) And ask them to take you to Gringotts. Most importantly BE NICE. Bow to the guards and clearly state your intentions (to collect your inheritance) while showing the utmost respect to the tellers. They'll happily chop your head off. There'll be another letter in the vault and the other tools with books on how to use them among … other things. The code is 'the sun rises when you and I meet and when the wind blows, you will know my heart." If you're with someone else (Hopefully not the Dursleys; they hated us.) Then ring this number. She should help if you give her the passphrase._

 _Now, I must go. You'll be able to access your father's vault too, but who knows what he has in there. Go and be strong and know we love you._

 _Hugs and kisses,_

 _Mum_

He stood in silence, futilely attempting to hold back the tears, but all too soon, they fell. After all the time he had spent trying to learn of his parents, he found that they were most likely murdered. It was a stark contrast compared to the 'they were drunk and got into a car crash' tale he was told by the Dursleys-

The Dursleys! They would expect a flawless attic and lunch prepared and he had all but 1 hour and 19 minutes left! It was a mad rush, but he managed to complete his final chore, safely store his brush in the dark recesses of his cupboard and prepare a dinner. It was simple but he enjoyed it at least. The 2 other men were not as impressed with the plethora of sandwiches and Petunia simply raised her nose at it.

It was only minutes later that the sandwiches had been consumed, mostly by a resigned pair of Dursleys, and they had set off for their own business. The adults had set off for a shopping trip and Dudley was out 'playing' with his friends, which meant it was the perfect time for Harry to find someone to further his mother's wishes. He quickly manoeuvred his way to the phone, dialling in the number written onto the letter. After what felt like hours of the same, monotone ringing, someone had picked up on the other end.

"Hello, Andromeda Tonks. May I ask how you got this number?" The voice seemed kind, in the talking-to-a-stranger-on-the-phone kind of way. Hesitantly, Harry replied,

"The sun rises when you and I meet and when the wind blows, you will know my heart. Does that mean anything to you Miss Tonks?" He felt like he made a mistake when there was no reply, but could clearly hear a small sob in the background.

"Harry is that you?" She asked, with anticipation in her voice. When Harry gave a positive answer, it changed to joy.

"Oh that's wonderful! Right, so you know your mother? She left me instructions on what to do. I'll come round to where you are and pick you up tomorrow. Where do you live?"

"Number 4 Privet drive, with the Dursleys-"

"The Dursleys!?" Harry had to temporarily remove the phone from his ear, lest he get a burst eardrum.

"Oh, out of all the people Dumble- Look, I'll come straight there tomorrow at 9 okay? Just hold on till then. I've heard about them from your mum, they must be terrible."

"They kinda are." Harry agreed, hoping not to make her angrier. After some final preparations, They bid each other farewell and put down the phone. Harry was practically buzzing. Finally, he could find out about the world his mother knew! He did notice the stumble over a word, possibly a name. Dumble… Oh well, it was a question for another time. He just had to-

"Boy! What are you doing next to the phone!?"

Harry sighed. He had to survive another night.

 **This is your end of chapter announcement. Please remember rating and review is possible at any time during the journey and criticism is welcome to improve your journey experience. Thank you for your time.**

 _ **(It began as a somewhat respectable beginning. Then I started on the train thing, woop, bang, now it's all about the trains. Please be kind as it's my first story.)**_


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